


an ideal world.

by rainlett



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: ALSO Makkachin is there when Yuuri commits the KMS so if that scares u dont, Bipolar Disorder, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified (EDNOS), Eating Disorders, Established Relationship, FTM Katsuki Yuuri, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Purple Prose, Self-Harm, Transphobia, overdose mention, synthesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 05:43:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8832691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainlett/pseuds/rainlett
Summary: In an ideal world, Katsuki Yuuri doesn't bring the razor to his wrist. He doesn't slice vertically--the opposite of how he used to years beforehand, each cut symbolizing how not good enough he was. He does not bleed out on the living room carpet, the one he's shared with Viktor for years, and he doesn't burst into tears when Makkachin paddles in, whining like she was.... Disappointed. The color that escapes her mouth is a deep violet, so dark that he almost mistook it for black. In an ideal world, that color is instead a vibrant pink.Sadly, this is not an ideal world.





	

**Author's Note:**

> SOOOOOOO i kinda wanted to die all day today so to cope i'm using a muse i rp on tumblr commiting suicide so i dont actually do it myself. that being said, this is all kinda my story minus the actual suicide????? i guess??? also im sorry if the mental hospital portrayal isnt similar to ur experience this is just how it went at community north in my state. also im sorry if i portray bipolar disorder wrong in any way. i have type I but i take lithium, but i also have autism and ptsd, which hinders my process of knowing which is which. also i dont have synthesia but i wanted to put it in

In an ideal world, Katsuki Yuuri doesn't bring the razor to his wrist. He doesn't slice vertically--the opposite of how he used to years beforehand, each cut symbolizing how not good enough he was. He does not bleed out on the living room carpet, the one he's shared with Viktor for years, and he doesn't burst into tears when Makkachin paddles in, whining like she was.... Disappointed. The color that escapes her mouth is a deep violet, so dark that he almost mistook it for black. In an ideal world, that color is instead a vibrant pink.

Sadly, this is not an ideal world.

* * *

Yuuri is eight, and the sky is full of colors that transverse farther than a simple blue. He is eight and he likes life, encompasses himself in light. When Okaa-san feeds him dinner that night, he does not force it back up, like a mother bird trying to feed his young. He is content with life and he feels... Nice. He doesn't care about the skirt he adorns, the pattern is pretty enough. He does not know that when he turns eleven, he will take his scissors in a fit of rage and cut all of the beautiful fabric to bits.

He doesn't need to know now. Now he is okay, and he doesn't know of the horrible future he led himself through. Doesn't know that he is going to choke on his spit like its too much and he's suddenly drowning from the wave of expectations that are forced down his throat. Doesn't need to see the pitch black voices that curdle with hate for him. He doesn't need to know that when he turns thirteen he has his first period. Doesn't need to know that the cramps don't hurt as much as the jolt of pain in his chest, the sincere realization that he has for the first time in his life.

_I desperately want to die._

 

* * *

 Yuuri is fifteen and in the hospital. The doctor calls him into her small room, a computer on one side of her, a notepad in the other. He's done this before. Too many times to count. The doctor---he's familiarized himself with her. She's been his doctor since his first inpatient. This is only the fourth attempt. This is a movie. He is the main character, broken and alone. The doctor crosses her legs, watches him shake in his seat. It's time to follow the plot.

"Yuuri, can you tell me why you're here today?" Her voice is a gentle blue, but it sets him off even more.

_Because it got to be too much again. Because I spent two days in bed and five after chasing after a wink of sleep, running after things to clean up and things to get done, and then the irrationality got to me. Because I took 44,000 milligrams of Tylenol and it took throwing up once for me to chicken out and call the ambulance. Because I'm not sure I ever wanted to live, but I'm too scared to die. Because I didn't go through with it, and that makes me a disappointment._

This is what Yuuri wants to say. What escapes his trembling form is a shrug. The doctor sighs before typing more things up on his chart. He sees the words "focus time" being written down. That's okay. Yuuri wanted isolation---craved it, really---and the doctor was only giving it to him. He would have to work on packets that told you how your disability worked, but never how to cope with them. 

Lunch flies by. He gets five measly chicken nuggets, a carton of milk (He switches it out for the chocolate milk in the fridge. Not worse, but not much better), a side of apple juice, some macaroni and cheese that smells like farts, and mashed potatoes. They are unsalted. He is about to raise his hand and ask for some salt to put in, but he remembers: salt is banned. One kid ruined that for everyone by rubbing the salt into his still healing cuts. Yuuri looks to his own. Sometimes he sees stories in them, but other times he just sees lines. Sometimes he looks at them and he thinks that the way they will scar is going to be ugly. But other times he smiles at them. Those are the times he wants to do it more. Yuuko had told him she always got scared for him when the Yuuri who smiled at the scars came out.

The doctor calls him back in the next morning. The plot continues, and never goes any further.

* * *

Yuuri is twenty-three and he made it all the way to the end only to flub it. He sits in the bathroom and cries, not just because of that alone. But because of everything building up to it. The suicide attempts, the kids who would yell at him and call him names for wanting to be a boy---for being a boy. The nights spent with Phichit talking him out of doing something suicidal, his voice a lilac sky of comforting waves, dancing with the intensity of the jumps he was able to pull off. The worried glances he got from people when they learned. When they realized how fucked up he was. Being open and outright on dates, saying that this is what to expect of him. Baring his heart out and saying that some days he will be too tired to even speak, and others he will be manic. The phone that never received another message from that potential relationship. The way he thought for a second he could be anything but useless.  

The bathroom stall is kicked open. There stands Yuri Plisetsky, probably the better of the two Yuuri's. He is saying things angrily at him,  but he doesn't pay attention to the words, just the mix of colors in his voice. The slight tinge of an orange concern, and the angry red of passion. It's obvious that the passion is about ice skating, from the small amount of words he could make out.

* * *

Viktor is his coach, his lover, his everything. The passion they make is truly one of the only things Yuuri dares to call beautiful. He recalls the smile Viktor holds soley for him, and as he bleeds out on the floor of the living room, Makkachin licking at the tears in his eyes, he finds another thing to call beautiful.

Death.

 

 


End file.
